


Burdened Hearts

by BumbleBeetle



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Angel Wings, Angel!Reader, Angel/Human Relationships, Brotherly Angst, Dorks in Love, Emotions, Eventual Romance, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, Lust, Manhandling, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-06-25 11:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19744753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BumbleBeetle/pseuds/BumbleBeetle
Summary: A collection of the many unfinished WIPs cluttering up my drafts...





	1. Sympathy For The Broken

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE NOT GIVEN PERMISSION TO ANY PLATFORM OTHER THAN ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN TO HOST MY WORK. IF THIS WORK IS FOUND ON ANY OUTSIDE THIRD-PARTY APP THEN THEY HAVE STOLEN MY WORK AND ARE USING IT TO PROFIT WITHOUT MY CONSENT.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabriel returns from an outing against Flood!Michael, and Y/N plays nursemaid.

Candlelight flickered from within ornate iron lamps, throwing shadows across dampened stone walls, paintings and ancient texts twisting into unrecognizable shapes. With his leather armor hung up to later be repaired, Gabriel sat with his back to you, wings flared to their full length. They dwarfed both you and the bed, hanging off the edges. Their glossy sheen had dulled considerably, dark liquid seeping from the bases of his feathers. When you touched them, your fingertips came away warm. And bloody. Shoulders tensing, a hiss escaped from between the archangel's clenched teeth.  
Hauntingly familiar crosswork had burned angry pink lines into fair skin, constrasting with moles or sparse freckling. Nasty bruising peppered his sides, taking the vague shape of bootprints. You realize, with a growing sinking feeling, that the Powers at Michael's side used empyrean steel nets, shackles, and pins to keep him from reaching his brothers-in-arms.

"It wasn't your fault," You murmured, each swipe through the ashen, burnt-feather paste tinting your fingers an ugly mix of grays. The bed shifted under your weight as you leaned closer to staunch rivers of red filling blackened crevasses.  
Those same Powers, from what you'd been told, had stripped Gabriel's soldiers of their wings. Hung on display towards Vega like macabre ornaments. Unable to save them, Gabriel instead sacrificed their lives for his own to avoid further torment. The image of minced bone, flesh, and cartilage as he described would forever be seared into your brain.

His response was one of heavy silence. Your lips formed a crease, worried that he'd retreated too deeply into himself. Understandable, since he was the Heart. From pain and suffering came anger, from anger came despair and apathy. And that mixture could be volatile when his emotions influenced his actions. "They were good men," he said, voice heavy with shame, the same way his guilt weighed down his shoulders. His wings sagged under some invisible force you couldn't comprehend. "Good siblings, good children. Father would've been _so_ proud." His tone softened, fragile, as though he would break any minute. _Perhaps he already had_.

"Gabriel," you started, but stopped when his fingers dug in the blanket, nails creating furrows. His head was bowed, eyes closed. Letting a hand rest on his upper arm, you found him trembling. From the side, you could plainly see the tears that spilled, hot and wet and many.  
Wordlessly you move to sit facing him, mindful of those massive primaries and secondaries. Drawn close, Gabriel's forehead lay against your shoulder. The archangel clung to you tightly anyways, arms circling your waist. Your fingers - though stained and sticky - stroked through mousy brown locks, gently pushing back his long bangs.


	2. Your Love Is My Religion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Y/N] was his sun, benevolent and enthusiastic, striking with the force of a meteor.
> 
> Michael was your moon, austere and world-weary, orbiting with the grace of a dancer.

"Have I told you recently that I love you?"

"No," Michael hummed. His wings spread beneath his back, cushioned by multitudes of plush pillows. Those ebon feathers gleamed in the low light, dusk tinting everything a hazy sepia shade. Wolfish amusement twinkled in those beautiful eyes and played at the corners of his mouth. Staring from below, his hands smooth over [Y/N]'s calves. Knees tucked, you straddled his waist. "Remind me, then."

Thumb stroking his jawline, you leant in for a kiss. Short, breathy sips turned increasingly desperate, igniting a warmth that coiled deep within your belly. His palm cradled the back of your neck while the other fell to your hip; every hollow, cleft, and curve mapped out perfectly. Dress hem riding above your thighs, calloused fingertips traced faded, raised scars. Images flitted behind closed lids like a movie reel. _White wings on a blue patch. Blood staining a lion's maw. Bright gunfire and thundering hearts. IV drips and hospital gowns._ _Forbidden kisses in tiny alcoves. Flower crowns and sundresses. Waltzes over stone roofing. Flashing swords and steaming blood._ The chandelier bulbs above seemed to hum in response, glowing brighter. 

Your very soul sung beneath his touch, yearning for your wings to emerge. They didn't just _ache_ , they **_burned_**. Tongues of flame seared your back. Sitting up, your shoulders rolled, loosening. Charcoal-tinted wings expanded, gravitating instantly towards his. Feathers enmeshed, he playfully rolled to pin you, the solid weight strangely comforting.


	3. Another Day, Another Dramatic Archangel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, [Y/N] thinks Gabriel has too much fun on the battlefield...

A mountain of tomes lay across mahogany desks in smoky half-light, some open to archaic imagery and others containing dog-eared pages. [Y/N] studies gilded covers, skimming faded ink. Your nails rap against the wood. There had to be record of Lucifer _somewhere!_ Michael's thirst for power was mounting, and Alex was nowhere to be found!

Just then, black smudges appear in your peripheral. You tense in anticipation for caressing feathers. Instead, there's a shift in the air, and heat bleeding through cotton at your back. You catch whiffs of leather, sweat, and even stranger, citrus. His breath is warm, gooseflesh prickling your arms. You feel him grin against your neck, all teeth.

"Honey, I'm home," came the sing-song murmur, Gabriel's thumbs hooking the loops of your jeans. You resist the overwhelming urge to eye-roll.  
There's silence as you flip through pages, then turn to him. Streaks of cherry-red blood paint his face, which has split into a broad smile. Ash covers stubbled cheeks. His beautiful blues are bright, excitable. You scrutinize him, head canted, then wet the pad of your thumb and drag it across his brow. Dirt coagulates, an ugly red-brown mixture that stubbornly refuses to disappear.

"I see you are," You say, corners of your mouth twisting with annoyance. Not at him, no, but the way he's barged into the library without a second thought about bathing. "And the 1950s called. They want their phrase back."  
Grime may be appealing for some, but not you. His grin faltered, and his shoulders dropped. Your gaze met his. A flash of hurt gripped your heart and squeezed. That expression tore into your heartstrings, ripping them all out at once.

"Gabe. Gabriel. Hey, look at me." Tenderly, [Y/N]'s hands cupped his cheeks, pleading silently while searching his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. Fresh off the battlefield, you are kind of gr—distasteful. Is this a poorly-crafted attempt at getting me to bathe with you?"  
Gabriel let the question hang in the emptiness, considering. Ah, there it was—the slight curl of his lips. Something else crept into those ocean-colored depths, though, darker.

"Yes."

"...I swear, you're an actual _child_ sometimes." 


	4. Wings Of Spun Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Vega's marketplace reawakens a childhood love of cotton candy within Y/N, which Michael happily obliges indulging - complete with a bonus kiss.

Y/N's shoes snapped against the sun-warmed asphalt, mood uplifted. Windy fingers tugged your hair, summertime insects creating a pleasant, humming din. Tucked under your arm was a basket full of books, candles, and other essential items. Beside you strode Michael, hands clasped behind his back. His shoulders were set, tense, footsteps measured.

Gently ribbing the archangel's side, you gave a bright, carefree smile. "Mich, come on. There's no need to be Mr. Serious. Enjoy the afternoon with me!"

"Y/N, I-"

Before he could reply, bony fingers grasped your sleeve. They belonged to older merchant woman, face split by craggy wrinkles. Her silver hair was bunched like wild cotton, and she gave a wordless, grin. At her urging you lifted a freshly-cut arrangement of daisies and roses, sticky sap drooling between slender fingers. _They were incredibly, almost breathtakingly beautiful._ In return you gifted her a handful of ration cards with a quietly murmured thanks.

As you turned to leave, Michael plucked a daisy free to tuck behind your ear. His curved palm cupped your cheek, those calloused, yet smooth thumbs stroked your skin, blue eyes soft like was committing this moment to memory.

"I suppose I _could_ relax for once."

Giving a gasp, you bounced excitedly on the soles of your feet, buzzing with renewed interest. Taking his hand in yours, you half-tugged, half-dragged him towards the city's center market.

The woman watched them vanish into a sea of unfamiliar faces. Fingers caressing a pendant hung around her neck, she was tempted to open it. Tempted to view her beloved's smiling face, frozen for all time. _Oh, to be young, carefree, and in love again._

* * *

  
Pennants flap wildly from palm fronds and children squealed, the city street awash with a kaleidoscope of bright color. The aromas drifting through the air make your stomach growl and mouth water, visions of sweetened confections dancing through your mind. _No. You had to get back to the MGM Grand._

  
_But, then again, maybe a quick bite wouldn't hurt..._

  
"Hungry?" Michael commented, watching your gaze flit from the speedy-changing hands of customers to glass cases stuffed full of sweetmeats. Rock candy, swirling lollipops, chewy caramels, rich chocolates, and so many more.

"Yeah," you murmured distractedly, eyes glued to one in particular - the circular cotton candy machine stuck in an odd corner. _Getting your hands on one of those melt-in-your-mouth sugar clouds sounded like the best option at the moment._

The archangel chuckled, and you blinked, broken from your sweet-tooth induced haze. "What?"

"Do you want some? Is it your favorite?"

You blinked. _Was he offering--? Like they were on a date-date? No. You'd misheard him. A cheesy, romantic setting complete with the man - archangel - of your dreams? This was crazy._

"S-sure? I guess-?" You responded, a warm flush creeping up your neck to ears and cheeks, worrying your lower lip.

Sauntering to the counter, he leans on it. _Stupidly tall angel._ You blush deeper, carnation pink morphing to beet red when the man spares a glance between you, obviously recognizing Vega's protector.

"One order for the two of us."

The order is acknowledged. Emerald ration cards are passed off as payment. A striped, triangular stick is topped with the fluffiest column of fairy floss you could imagine, pink marbled with purple and blue. _If you squint hard enough, it vaguely takes the shape of wings._

_There's no way you'll be able to eat this much by yourself without getting a stomach ache. Maybe this was a bad idea..._

A hand passes just over your shoulder, reaching for the right side. Michael tears wispy strands away, studying them as he seats himself. _Handsome._ With the sparkling water at his back from the fountain, and flighty dark curls mussed by the breeze, you can't help but stare. _He's so handsome._

"Y/N? Going to join?" The archangel asks with concern around popping the thick, melty floss into his mouth. You giggle, the sight of one of god's mightiest warriors - and sons - chowing down on a simple mortal treat is too much. Peals of laughter ring out, light and airy, vision blurring with happy tears.

"Michael, I-I'm so sorry." You manage to gasp out, easing beside him. "I shouldn't have laughed, but, I couldn't help it."

"Why should you be sorry? And couldn't help what-?"

_You had fallen hoplessly in love with him all over again._

"This," you murmured, pulling him in for a sweetened, sugary kiss. Head canted to the side, your noses brushed, lips parting eagerly. His free hand curled around your waist, drawing you further into his awkward, adorable embrace.


	5. Weathering The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eyrie's location is the absolute worst when it comes to storms. Mother Nature's fury, indeed. Luckily, having an archangel to buddy up with helps.

A voice, soft and light, calls the archangel's name. It is difficult to discern from the ancient byzantine hymns lingering in the air, but it's there. 

  


"Gabriel." 

  


It comes again. Stronger, insistent. A whisper-yell. 

  


"Gabriel!" 

  


Sepia tints everything a rich red-orange hue, flickering lamps banishing shadows to far corners. His drowsy gaze centers on the person opposite, making out their shape from beyond a hoard of embroidered pillows. Dark hair, bright eyes, clad in an oversized, old-world shirt and sweatpants. 

  


"Y/N?" Gabriel rumbles, hints of confusion and concern in his tone. His mousy brown hair is messy, sticking out in all directions. He's donned a simple pair of pajama bottoms, gold thread around the waistline.

  


You shuffle your socked feet on the carpet, toeing at loose strands. Your head lowers. Your hands fidget, not able to keep them still when nervous. "I can't sleep." 

  


"That's all? Sleep eludes you so you bother me instead?"

  


"Not just that—" You protest, sounding like a petulant child. "It's the storm. The noise."

  


"You're afeared of thunder and lightning?" 

  


You nod in response. Making things worse, a sudden, sharp crackle causes you to startle. He can see the whites of your eyes when they go wide as dinner plates. You scramble madly like a rabbit among predator-laden bracken, heart thudding wildly.

Gabriel can't stand to witness this. His human, frightened to the point of panic. Your expression tugs at his heartstrings. An empty hand extended, he beckons.

  


"Come, then." 

  


You climb up amidst an ocean of cotton, instinctively curling into a tight ball. You're tenser than a taut cable against his bare chest. To remedy your fear, his massive wings unfurl with a sound like rasping silk, cocooning you in _warmth_ and _darkness_ and _security._

Barbs tickle your arms, head tucked under his chin. Bright flashes illuminate his chambers. The stained-glass windows rattle. Candles shudder, lamps jump and shake. Your hands cover your ears, flinching. The sounds are muffled, smothered, _but it isn't enough_.  


With gentle chiding, his draw yours away. Fingers twining, weaving like a knot of serpents, his thumbs stroke slow, lazy circles into your palms. "La tapallah, Y/N." He murmurs, voice low, intimate in the space between. He's light on the vowels, heavy on consonants. 

To anyone other than you it would seem an order. But it's a promise.

 _Don't be afraid, Y/N._


	6. Staving Off The Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why, oh why, did the human feather duster have to choose a massive snowy mountain as his home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...just a short fluffy blurb with archangel hugs.

_It's chilly in the aerie_. The candles don't give off much heat, and with the hungering, icy winds, they get blown out regularly.

Your fingers have begun to numb, short shivers raising goosebumps along your arms. _Curse your fashion choice for the day. Short sleeves were a mistake._ Your teeth don't yet chatter, but they'll get there eventually. For now it's a drowsy, _needing-to-crawl-under-blankets_ cold that seeps into your bones.

You seek the archangel out, like a moth to flame. He's in the midst of discussing plans with a gathering of heralds - a handful, at best. Attention taken from a map of the Cradle spread beneath his palms, he gazes upon you, head canted curiously.

You shuffle past Janeck, past Amos and Briathos, winding around Nero. They give you quite the colorful range of expressions, from amusement to surprise to confusion. You pay them no mind.

Gabriel beckons, gesturing for you to come closer.

His arms lift as you press against him, only to lower seconds later, coat wrapping about you in a heavy, weighted embrace. The top of your head barely reaches his chin, even on tiptoe, so it's a struggle - _an awkward one_ \- to find the right angle.

 _After a time, you don't really care_.

"Would you like me to raze a city down so you can take comfort in its smouldering ruins?" He asks, voice low between the two of you. His warmth - far beyond any normal human temperature - soaks into your tired body, banishing the chill, and your eyes slip closed for a moment. _Just a moment_.

"No. This is enough."


	7. Desert Blossoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Determined to spend the day with you, Michael drops by the Grand with an offer to beat Vega's current heatwave.

The sun. The all-round blaze of it, seems closest to Vega than any other nuclear-blasted city on the planet. 

_Of course the generators were due for maintenance_.

Damned electricity could barely stay on for an hour at a time, lighting up chunks of the grid like a deranged game of whack-a-mole. 

_Of course Gates was taking a self-titled staycation day_.

The only man capable of keeping Vega running was probably watching old-world baseball reruns and laughing as they suffered. 

_Of course..._

Rolling over in bed, you stared out the open window across the room. Clad in shorts and a scavenged tank top, the fabric stuck like a second skin to your damp body. The sky was as blue as the hotel pool, fluffy white wisps creeping across. 

Letting out a sigh of frustration, you drug a hand down your face. If you squinted hard enough, you could just make out the Stratosphere's disc across the city. Michael's roost. His highest perch. 

_Bet the Archangel Corps had air conditioning._

The beat of wings drew you from envious ramblings. The archangel alighted upon your sill, clad in those dark clothes of his. His eyes crinkled, a soft smile forming. You returned the look with playful innocence. 

"Mich, you have any idea to flee this radioactive cesspool?"

He offered an open hand, wings flexing. "How about we take a trip to the lake?"

You gave pause, nose scrunching. "Lake Mead? That so-called paradise?" 

He gave you a look, one with an arched brow. "Do you wish to stay here and melt, or come with me?" 

Succumbing to his charm, you took his hand with a bag packed. His shadow spread wide, soaring over Vega. The churning of his wings echoed above the din below. His tense nature softened, as he held you. 

* * *

Touching down, breezes tugged sandy hills. A flock erupted from the lot. Skimming over your heads and the rippling water. 

With a giggle you tossed him shorts. Patterned with flowers, yellows and blues. Michael held them away like they'd bite. He sighed heavily. 

"Oh, don't be a downer, flyboy! We're here to have fun!" You called, disappearing. Humming came from beyond the door. 

The archangel gave an eyeroll. Tossing his coat, he wrestled out of his shirt and boots. Socks join the pile. Belted pants, too. His swords stuck in the surf. 

"Done yet, Mich?" You laughed. 

A snarl exploded across the silence the angel gave. You poked your head out. Your eyes widened. _Michael, shirtless, and in the trunks you'd given him, was tussling with a group of eight-balls!_

Movements resembled a time-lapse. Blades flashed, blood sprayed. The whistling whine of popped plastic. Mouth affixed in a firm line, blue eyes focused. Dark hair streaking his pale face. 

You stood, in annoyance and awe of this, arms full of towels. With a throw of hands, they scattered at your feet. _You'd just wanted one damn day without trouble!_

* * *

By the time he'd finished, dusk fell. Bright silver points in an gold-pink sky. You sat away from the carnage, poking a stick into the sand. A pile of tinder eaten by orange flame lit the spot. 

_Wasted. The day wasted on flight and fights._ **_What a mess._ **

A hand alighted on your shoulder, squeezing tender. With gentle guidance you were drawn to strong arms. Wordless apologies written in his expression. His blues were deep, imploring. With backward steps you were drawn into the water. 

_I'm sorry_ , they said. _Forgive me?_

Your arms circled his neck. His hands, your hips. Your foreheads touched. You peeked from under long lashes. A smile stole across in watery moonlight. As each stared at the other, cacti opened a myriad of blooms along the shore. 

_You couldn't stay cross with him, anyways._


	8. A Handy Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N has a thing for the archangel's hands. And his sword. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless, explicit Gabriel smut because why not? Also slight PWP, just fyi.
> 
> You read the tags. You chose to click. What's on the tin is what you get. I regret and apologize for nothing.

Gabriel had strong hands, long, leather-wrapped fingers, short nails, and a light dusting of hair near his wrists. The hair trailed away up his muscular arms, continuing under rolled up sleeves. Said sleeves of his turtleneck were folded over because he was whetting his sword blade. You sat upon the throne's edge and watched. He didn’t seem to mind and just kept softly talking about his day, the heralds he'd sent out and what news the lower angels brought him. You nodded occasionally, and both of you knew that you weren’t listening.

You had your chin in your hand, and you couldn’t help but drift into one of your many fantasies. Without noticing you brought your fingertips up and traced them over your lips.

The archangel seated beside you slowed, the hissing whine of rock on metal lingering. “Sweetling, do you mind?” 

You looked up and saw him staring, those blues suddenly the color of storm-tossed waves. “Mind what?” You asked, genuinely not knowing.

“That _thing_ you’re doing with your fingers. It’s distracting.”

“Oh, is it?” You got a crafty look as you turned to face him. “Well, I’ll have you know that what you’re doing with your hands is distracting too.”

“Hm? Sharpening my sword?”

“Uh-huh." Reaching out, you took the hand closest to you and brought it upwards. His gaze was pinned vacantly to your lips as you drew one of his fingers into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, you lave your tongue eagerly over the pad, trailing the tip along the underside. There came a pause, a catch in his breath. The blade across his lap shifted as he did, sliding a few inches more towards the carpeted stone floor.

The end - just before his knuckle - brushes along your bottom lip, pressing vulnerable flesh into your teeth. He swallows thickly, adam's apple bobbing. Your tongue swirls lazily, circling, teasing, sucking.

His finger rests there, for a moment, then withdraws, trailing across your teeth and leaving a smear of saliva on your chin. Your cheeks are flush, plush lips trembling. Your chest rises and falls, balancing precariously on the arm as you lean in.

Kicking the sword away, it tumbles end-over-end on the carpet before stopping. His other hand grips your nape, pulling you into his lap. Hands going to his chest, you're left straddling one of his thighs. Your lips touch, pull away, then brush again, the sensation leaving you lightheaded and breathless.

"...you like my hands?" He murmurs almost casually, voice low between the two of you. 

"Yeah, I'd say so." You tried to match him in terms of casualness, but the hitch, and tremors gave you away. Your shirt had come undone, riding above your hip. Warm knuckles skim your belly, gentle tugs at the button of your jeans.

The tug of a zipper pulls you from the heady haze of desire, both hands slipping beneath the pockets. They slide low, lower still, thumbs loosely hooked in belt loops. His palms are warm — _warmer than you'd like to admit. Like desert sand left to the sun's blaze._ His mouth captures yours, swallowing the gasp that you emit when chilly mountain air meets bare skin. A gentle squeeze prompts you to rock forward, rubbing against slick leather of his pants underneath. The corners of his lips curl, a ghost of a smirk.

"Gabriel—"

"Hush, sweetling." He murmur against your lips, drawing back to plant another, lighter kiss to your temple. His hands left - or moved, you couldn't tell - from where they'd lay, rubbing slow, careful circles along the inside of your thighs. Unconsciously you spread wider, teeth digging at your bottom lip. You were panting now, shaky exhales buffeting those damnably messy bangs over hooded eyes. His fingers cupped you through soaked cotton, strokes maddeningly drawn-out.

"I spoil you," Gabriel purrs, voice dripping with honeyed satisfaction in the silence. He knows all the ways to break you, make you come undone, and then some. 

"You do," You responded, breathless, and distracted. His lips ghost the outer shell of your ear, teeth nipping gently at the lobe. His breath is warm on your face, gentle puffs that make you shiver. Jeans halfway down your thighs, bunched up around your ankles, his fingers hook the damp material between your legs. 

" _Fuck_ , Gabriel—" 

"Gladly," He breathed, pulling the offending garment aside. Fingers stroking, he parted soft folds, slick with what had gathered there. Then, the middle one sunk into your warm, tight heat, his thumb lazily circling your clit. Gasping, your head canted, face half-hidden in his neck. Bright sparks danced in the darkness behind closed eyes.

You whined, bucking against him, a plea for more. He wasn't rough, he wasn't harsh. It was slow, at first, as he relished in the little noises escaping past your parted lips. Pumping in, then out, curling, circling, plunging—

 _A second finger. Two, this time._ Your walls fluttered, clenching, wet sloshing accompanied muffled moans. You ground down and back against those digits, sparks turning to stars.

There had to have been a damp spot, because you swore you could feel him. All leather and heat and hardness. _Was he just as aroused as you were?_ Just then, a thought wormed its way from the darkest depths of your mind. 

Your hand dropped from his chest. Fingers tracing the interwoven chestpiece links, they wandered well past the heavy metal buckle of his belt. There came a grunt from the archangel as you cupped the crotch. The zip was cold, but it paled to what lay - or rather, rose - beneath. Lightly you dragged your palm over the stiff fabric, feeling him twitch in response.

Your nail caught the loop, each time it slid past those metal teeth you felt him shift, sinking back against the stone chair. He still had his fingers deep inside you, working slower now. You grinned, all teeth against his neck as you tugged his fly apart. Your thumb teased the head through the cotton of his briefs, smearing beads of pre-come across flush skin. 

" _Fucking tease_ ," Gabriel hissed, a broken groan bubbling up from his throat. His chest rose and fell, unevenly, exhaling hard.

Peppering kisses to his stubble-coated jaw, your fingers slid past the waistband and tugged it lower. Freed from its confines, his cock bobbed, hot and heavy against his abdomen. He was well-endowed, this was true. _Nothing wrong with a bit of personal vanity..._

The feel of your fingers wrapped around him broke that train of thought, a slow drag making his head drop back. Shaggy bangs obscuring his vision, his eyelids flutter closed, nearly giving in.

Turning so your lips touch, Gabriel's mouth captures yours in a series of hungry, open-mouthed kisses. _This feeling, it's as though you're both drunk, in a good way. In a primal way._ Your voices are a duet of groans, moans, grunts, and whines. _He's abandoned his angelic nature to one more human._ A look, a grimace, not of pain but pleasure overtakes him. His hips buck, hard. Mindlessly rutting against your palm as his climax approaches. _He doesn't want this to end. He doesn't._

Neither do you, yours just as quick.


	9. Blood On Our Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Gabriel attempt to work out their anger towards each other - in the most mature way they can think of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just an excuse to write mindbonded twins, angsty feels, slight incest if ya squint, and manhandling. I swear. 👀

_Michael. I feel you._

  
_And I feel you. Your link is weak, brother. The lasting silence between us is deafening._

  
_Such trouble isn't noteworthy. I have news._

  
_What news? Tell me._

  
_No._

  
_Gabriel! I am in no mood for games!_

  
_Seek out the wild places, Michael. There you will find me._

* * *

  
With a beat of his wings Michael descended from the starry indigo sky. His boots touch down on uneven ground, scanning his surroundings. He was far from civilization, the bright lights of Vega a mere afterthought. The night is filled with the calls and cries of nocturnal beasts, reflective eyes gleaming in watery moonlight. A figure, cloaked in shadow leant against the twisted trunk of a tree, fidgeting with grasses. 

Michael's nostrils flared, jaw clenching. His brother gave a simpering smile at his arrival, what humans would call a ' _shit-eating grin_ '. 

"Brother—"

"Don't 'brother' me, Gabriel." Hands curled in leather fabric, slamming the other into the rough bark behind. Gabriel let out a scoff, hands up with palms outwards. Michael's brows furrowed, his twin suddenly lighter. 

"No sword?" 

"Not this time. As I said, I wished to talk. And talk we'll do, if you let me go—?" Gabriel's gaze flicked to the fingers in his coat, then back to Michael's face.   
Michael takes a step back, folding his arms. Brows lifting expectantly, he watched as Gabriel withdrew a flask and took a sizable swallow. 

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Casting a sidelong glance, Gabriel seats himself between gnarled roots. "Knowing that those you once trusted turned the blade inward."

Michael let himself fall against the trunk, looking towards the back of Gabriel's head. Gabriel laughs again, a bitter, harsh sound. "Lead you on, like a lamb to slaughter. That redheaded one, especially. What was her name—?"

"Becca. Her name was Becca. And you'd best not befoul her memory by saying she was—"

"—a bitch? Oh, come now, Michael. They're no better than the eight-balls I bed." Gabriel continues. Tempted to draw his blade, Michael stays his hand. _Not yet_.

"Speak ill of the dead and they'll—"

"Come back to haunt, I know." Gabriel mutters sourly. Putting his eye to the cap, he curses in hushed lishepus. _Empty_. "On the subject of monsters, do the humans think you one now that you've killed their own? A senator, no less?" 

Michael hesitated. "I do not know." 

A dark brow arched in incredulity, Gabriel turns to face his brother. "You don't know? Truly?" 

"I fled Vega before anyone could question what had happened."

Gabriel chuckles, tossing the useless container some hundred feet away. It lands with a wet thump, throwing up leaves and dirt. "Fled? You make it sound as though you've become a fugitive." 

"I have. I killed her in a fit of blind rage. With my bare hands. I can still hear the snap, see the terror..." 

"Not blind. Justified."

"Justified?" 

Gabriel growls, visage twisting. "She tortured one of our own, did she not? Cut Louis open - while still alive - and rearranged his organs. Forced his wings from their sheaths, cut them from the sockets. Chained up like some museum art piece to be ogled." 

"You've done the same! Possession! Tearing wings free, chaining innocent neutrals up in Vega! Casting their bodies into a warehouse like some makeshift refuge heap!" Michael barked. "Don't lie to me!" 

"That wasn't me—" Yanked to his feet, Gabriel's world explodes in a shower of stars as Michael's fist collides with his jaw. He's given no moment of peace, another punch sending him reeling. _Michael's got a wicked right hook_ , he thinks before the breath is driven from his lungs.  
"...are you finished?" He asks between spitting specks and sucking in stale air. The back of his hand is smeared crimson when he wipes. He lifts his gaze, peering at Michael. "Or are you to use the blade next?"

Michael balls his fist, lunging, and Gabriel grins in preparation - or anticipation. His teeth are wet with blood, appearing like fangs in the dimness. Instead, Michael's knee connects with Gabriel's chin. Head snapping back, his twin is sent sprawling into the dust like a drunken bar patron.

There's no cry of pain - but more laughter.

"Damn you, Gabriel! Why are you laughing?" Michael demands. 

"What would Father say if he were here?" Gabriel gasps out, waiting for his surroundings to stop spinning. "Look at them," he mocks, in imitation of the deity, "at each other's throats like starved dogs!"

"Because it was you who first—" Michael stops, his grip waning on Gabriel's wrist.

"Who first what? Spit it out, Mikey! You've kept that storm of yours contained since the dark ages! Let it free, _brother_." Gabriel bites back, beset with a sneer. "Who first defied Him? Who first struck Lucifer? Who first looked at you the way that boy of yours does?"

"No - Gabriel, enough - " 

"Denial will only put you deeper. Hm, where's a good confessional when you need one?" comes the rhetorical question, tinged with tight-lipped sarcasm.

**Author's Note:**

> Glad you read my fics! And enjoyed them! Just one more thing though--
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated! 💕


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